THE HORSES CHOSEN BY PRINCE MARSIL for their journey had come straight from the Royal Stables. They were huffing, hulking steeds with shades of black and brown fur. The beast's hooves were like iron and their pelt glinted in the morning sun.
Esabel's was a brown beauty that even had its mane plaited to an elegant braid down its neck.
She patted the mare and climbed on, and an Officer nearby fitted the stirrups tight on her legs. She gave him a thankful smile and the man went red. He made sure to lower his head.
The woman who he served might be younger but she was also a Sovereign's daughter.
...The Sovereign Arlon.
To look upon her with a gay face could be considered treason, and everyone in the Capital knew what happened to traitors; the smoke could be seen for miles.
...Traitors were burned at the stakes.
Esabel turned to her brother, the Vampire Prince. He stood at the lead of their horses, his silver mask now firm over his face, hiding out his godly looks and moon eyes. He looked to the others astride their horses.
A small nod to Ferra and another to Hemlock, and then he turned back forward. Marsil jerked on the reins in his hands, and his horse, a black Clydesdale huffed, starting forward across the streets.
His friends followed with their horses shortly.
A group of spectacularly dressed Kingsguards had been released from the Castle at the King's command that morning.
They were a band of four men no less than six feet tall, with breastplates of shined silver and helmets rounded in gold. Great steel swords marked their scabbards as they sat astride their horses too.
These high-ranking Officers escorted the Prince, his sister and their two friends to the gilden gates of Calipsos.
The word 'gilden' was no exaggeration nor metaphor as the gates themselves were a work of sturdy bronze but overlayed in the most beautiful shade of melted gold.
The gates were another marvelous handiwork of the Seers, and reached over seventy feet high with towers flanking the posts.
On these stone towers stood the Capital's guards, making rounds every now and then to ensure the influx of people into the metropolis was conducted in order.
Once outside the gates, Marsil halted his horse and turned back to face the Kingsguards. It was clear he wanted no further involvement in their journey from the Royal guard.
He and his friends could do well on their own. In light of this, Marsil looked to Ser Thrace Draco, one of the escort Officers and also the Head of the Castle's security.
The Knight, on seeing the Prince's stare directed at him lifted his hands and took off his gilded helmet in courtesy. Marsil met his olive green eyes, giving the Knight his instructions.
"Tell my father we are thankful for his reasoning and support in our journey and that we're sorry for not reaching out to him in person."
"Yes, Your Grace," Ser Draco replied.
"The King wished me to tell you he misses your brooding company within the Castle halls..."
Esabel and the others chuckled at this but the Knight went on stoically, as if reading from a royal parchment.
"...and that he wishes you the wisdom of the Pantheon to guide your journey and the blessings of the Seventh Flame to be with you."
Marsil gave Thrace a small nod in appreciation. The Knight turned then, in the same rigid manner to Esabel.
"Your father says he loves you."
The lovely Princess flushed at the man's words, her cheeks heating up.
"Thank you, Ser Draco, you and company," she said, schooling her features.
"It's my honor and duty, Your Grace," the Knight replied, bowing to both Marsil and Esabel.
He gave Ferra a small smile and completely ignored Hemlock.
To the Knight, the redhead was a smug charlatan.
Without another word, Ser Thrace Draco donned back his helmet and turned his horse around.
The Kingsguards nudged their horses, and the animals trotted away, back to the high gates and heading straight for the Ivory Castle.
They had performed the King's command.
"Gosh! Finally, we can have some fun."
It was none other than Hemlock's cheery voice. The young man turned his horse away from the heavy gates of Calipsos to face the clear fields in the distance, blurry in the light of the sun.
"Now!" he growled, his hazel eyes lighting with manic fire.
"WE RIDE!"
Without giving either of his three friends an option, the redhead yanked on the reins of his horse. The beast lifted high on its sturdy hind feet, giving a loud neigh before it rushed off across the field.
Esabel's blue eyes flashed also with the spirit of adventure and she rushed across too.
"WOOOHOO!!!" she yelled, her voice echoing into the morning as her mare galloped fiercely to meet Hemlock in the distance.
Only Marsil and Ferra were now left behind.
The Vampire Prince turned to his beautiful amber-eyed friend. His mask gleamed in the orange Morn's light and she smiled at him. She gave a small nod and the two of them turned, looking forward together.
Half a second later, they too were rushing across the plains in hot pursuit of their friends. At the speed of their horses, only a blur of dust was left in their wake, rising up to the towers where the Capital's guards watched with smirks on their faces.
Marsil's horse was a powerful breed, a beast in the making. With his expertise in horse mastery, it wasn't long before his horse matched Hemlock's speed, and soon, the Vampire Prince was in the lead with his friends following behind.
The girls laughed and yelled into the morning as the four friends brushed across the fields; green with grass, yellow with willows, and red with roses, leaving only a trail of dust behind.
They rode for hours until they were parched.
It was Afternoon when Marsil finally halted his horse, stopping under a large Oak.
His friends were grateful and panting as they quickly settled to a lunch of dried spicy meats and softened bread. A good drink from a nearby spring and they were refreshed once more.
Marsil of course did not partake in their banquet. His was a solitary drink from a purse sitted away from the group. His food was unlike theirs.
... His was a blood feed.
Hemlock walked over and the Vampire Prince quickly hid away his purse of blood. Marsil had taken off his mask and silver eyes shined out.
Hemlock had seen Marsil hide out the bag of blood but knew not to bring it up. Looking into the summerland sky, now a shade of light-blue almost white, the handsome redhead said;
"When do you suppose we'll reach the White Keep?"
Marsil stood from his position, uttering a single word in reply.
"Nightfall."
Then he walked off to his horse. The friends started out again, this time without any more breaks.
The Prince was right; they reached the lands of the West by dusk.
The first thing Ferra noticed was that the fields were lusher, the grasses grew higher, the flowers bloomed fuller, the birds sang happy on trees, and a few squirrels with their furry tails looked out from their tiny tree houses.
The West was wonderful.
It had serene nature and thriving orchards. To think most of it was all owned by a single man.
They reached the Signory of House Cranmer, proceeding forward to the small watchtower overlooking the area. A group of two houseguards strode out to meet them.
Their eyes immediately lowered when they spotted the leader of the approaching horses.
"Lord Silverheel!" the men saluted, giving a swift bow.
"How does everyone know him?" Hemlock whispered playfully behind and Esabel shushed him.
The houseguards had reverent looks on their faces as they moved behind with their horses, acting as escorts the last hundred yards to the White Keep.
It seemed King Arlon had sent word of his son's arrival because the Lord of the Manor himself was waiting outside the mansion. Him, his three wives and his four daughters, along with every single butler, cook and maid that worked in the house.
"By the Seventh Flame!" Ferra gasped, her amber eyes going wide over the White Keep's sprawling beauty.
The manor was almost as large as the Castle. Obviously, Lord Geralt Cranmer was a very wealthy man.
Esabel caught her look and chuckled beside her.
"It's beautiful," she said.
"Yes, and it's so big..." Ferra added, her eyes still going over the countless windows the Manor seemed to possess.
The White Keep was like the less eerie version of the Vale of Wails. While the Vale had lands spread wide as the Keep, the Vale's climate was dark and gloomy while the Keep's was full of light and trees and sounds everywhere.
"I don't see any white," Hemlock grumbled from behind.
"If it's called the White Keep, what does the white stand for?"
"I thought you had the brain of a Seer?" Esabel joked on her horse beside him.
"I did... I d—do..." the young stammered.
He caught the Princess's smirk and frowned.
"Fine. You want me to beg for an answer?"
Esabel's grin held.
"Alright, will you please tell me why this large beauty before us is called the White Keep?"
Esabel detected the sarcasm in Hemlock's voice but she didn't mind. The redhead had asked nice enough. So she gave her answer.
"It's named for the lake just behind the Woods to the left. It's a crystal wonder with fresh springs. They call it the White Lake, hence the Manor's name, the White Keep."
"Well, I do thank you my lady for the enlightenment," Hemlock smiled.
His flirty grin was back in place and Esabel looked away.
Her eyes moved to her brother in the lead who seemed to have grown quieter with each yard they covered to the house.
Marsil was naturally reserved and calm, but now he was somber. Esabel looked to Ferra and both young women moved their horses forward, taking their places on each side of his.
The Prince looked to them and somehow the light in the girls eyes' seemed to seep into the darkness encroaching into his soul, lighting it a bit.
...When men looked to the White Keep, they saw glory and beauty, and serenity. When Marsil looked to it, all he saw was darkness and chains.
The White Keep held his most painful memories. He'd been starved and drugged, and chained, and left to wallow in his own sweat. Just a child he'd been.
Just a child...
His only 'wrong' was that he was a Bloodchild. Born with moon eyes, therefore scorned by the world.
...And now he was about to face the fucker who'd left him to die in his underground cellar more than once.
Marsil felt his fangs rip out. Almost immediately he felt soft hands touch his. He looked down to see Esabel and Ferra's hands, both clutching to his.
They smiled warmly at him and his fangs receded.
They were just few feet away from the gathering of the Lord and his welcome party. Marsil reached out to the pocket of his saddle, grabbing his mask and dragging it over his face.
At once, he was changed from the hurt broken bloodchild in the dungeons to Silverheel, the Lord and Legend of the Arena.
He climbed off his horse and walked with his three friends flanking him to the scrawny man also walking across from beyond the Manor to him.
The very bastard who had him malnourished to near death.
...OLD MAN GERALT.